Focus on the Details
by Torchwhovian
Summary: It's easier to see through the nightmares when I can tell what's real and what's not. Therapy is helping with that but so is she. She helps me more than anything else. We're both broken but that's how the light gets in. Through the cracks. Bucky/OC
1. Chapter 1

Every morning at 4:00 exactly, there are four footsteps leading to the bathroom. The water is turned on and then adjusted to the showerhead. He'll shower when he gets back from his run but this is his routine. I know it like the back of my hand. In eight minutes, the shower will be turned off and ten minutes later, there will be seven steps to my door and a soft knock will rap against the wood. "Bucky, I'm going for a run. Did you want to come with me?"

Every morning, the same routine and the same question, always with the same answer. I lay in the bed that's too soft and remain silent. After two minutes, Steve sighs softly in defeat. "I'll be back in an hour. You know where I am if you change your mind."

I won't and he knows that but he won't stop trying to pull me out of the confusion in my brain, decades of clutter that was festering like an open wound, infecting my mind and broken memories. Steve's departing footsteps and the click of the door closing lets me know that I'm alone. After I pulled him from the water, it took Steve about a week to find me and begged me to stay with him. He said he could help and the longer I held his gaze, trying to figure out this man in front of me, something in the back of my head told me to trust him.

Pushing the blanket off, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, making my way to the shower. While I waited for the water to warm up, I examine my reflection carefully, looking for any subtle change back to the man that Steve says I used to be. There's dark bags under my eyes, evidence that I haven't been sleeping. The few hours I manage to get are intermittent with tossing and turning with nightmares. Stripping off my pajama bottoms and stepping under the hot spray, I do what Steve suggested to do when I can't figure out what's real and what isn't: focus on the details. So I do. I focus on the water droplets as they drip down the shower wall and how the water feels as it massages the knots in my back.

I never linger in the shower, preferring to get in and get out, and today is no different. With a towel wrapped around my waist, I pick a black t shirt, boxers, and jeans and tug them on. Socks and my boots follow then I wring the water out of my hair with the towel. Steve's a real stickler about keeping things neat so I trudge back to the bathroom and hang the towel up on the rack. My morning routine took less than fifteen minutes, leaving me a little less than an hour before Steve got back from his run. One of the things Steve insisted on was having me go to therapy once a week. He said it would help with the memories and nightmares.

I've got several hours before my first appointment so I find the television and turn it on, trying to catch up on current events. So much has changed since I was placed in cryofreeze. On the occasions when I was thawed, I didn't exactly have time to catch up on news. I followed my orders and went back in cryofreeze. I left the news on while I found a bowl and poured some cereal, adding milk and eating quickly. When I was done, I washed the bowl and spoon and replaced them where they belonged.

The door opened and Steve seemed surprised to see me in the living room. "Hey, Buck."

I nodded once in his direction instead of speaking. He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, taking several drinks before attempting to start a conversation again. "Did you want me to go with you to your appointment today?"

"No."

My short response didn't phase him. He just nodded and said, "If you change your mind, let me know."

-0-

The office of Doctor Maxine Simmons was painted light blue. I assumed it was painted this way to soothe the patients before their sessions. There were four chairs positioned behind a coffee table, which had several magazines sitting on top of it. A receptionist offered coffee as soon as I walked in.

"James Barnes." I told her once I rejected the beverage. "I have a ten o clock appointment."

"Of course." The receptionist smiled brightly at me. "She'll be with you in just a few minutes, sir. She's just finishing up a session."

I nodded my thanks and moved to sit in the chair that allowed me a full view of the room and a view of the door. My one condition to Steve's therapy request was that he or she be in no way connected to S.H.I.E.L.D or Hydra. I was done with secret agencies or people attempting to manipulate me one way or the other. I'd have a couple sessions with Doctor Simmons then...well, to be honest, I wasn't sure what I would do.

"Mr. Barnes?" The receptionist pulled me out of my thoughts. "Dr. Simmons is ready for you."

She led me down the hall and knocked gently on the first door on the right.

"Come in."

And we did.

Dr. Simmons' office was painted the same color as the waiting area, but she had a small couch placed against one wall and two chairs sitting opposite the couch. A potted plant sat in the corner and the open window allowed the wind to blow fresh air into the office. Dr. Simmons was making notes on a pad of paper, sitting behind a desk. "Have a seat, Mr. Barnes. I'll be right with you."

The few minutes of silence allowed me to observe my new therapist. Dark hair fell over one shoulder, creating a curtain, which she tucked behind her ear. Her fingernails were painted a very dark purple, a shade which matched the small rectangular frames of her glasses. She glanced up at me quickly and offered an apologetic smile, revealing blue eyes and cherry red lips. Dr. Simmons closed the notepad and picked up a new one, moving to sit in one of the chairs opposite the couch where I was sitting. An engagment (or wedding) ring glittered in a stray ray of sunlight. Crossing her legs, Dr. Simmons began. "Now, Mr. Barnes. What can I do for you?"

"I don't know." The answer was true enough. I wasn't sure what anyone could do for me.

Dr. Simmons nodded once. "Tell me what you would like to accomplish."

I'm quiet for a long few minutes, staring at the beige shag carpet at my feet. "I don't know."

Papers were shuffled and she cleared her throat before asking, "Would it help you to know that I've read the S.H.I.E.L.D files on you? That in this office, you have nothing to hide?"

My heart leaps into my throat and I just stare at this woman, who, if I needed to, I could crush her throat in under five seconds. "And if someone wants to know what goes on in our sessions?"

"Doctor-patient confideniality. I'm not allowed to let anyone know what is said in here. All my notes are locked up and I'm the only one with a key."

She seems sure of herself but my curiosity piques. "Why did you agree to see me if you knew what I am?"

"It's not my place to judge your actions, Mr. Barnes. It's my job to help you manage your problems." She adjusts her glasses. "Now, I'll ask again. What would you like to accomplish with these sessions?"

"Steve wants me to go back to who I was. He says I can get back to who I used to be." The words slip out of my mouth and it surprises me. No wonder Dr. Simmons chose this profession. She was easy to talk to.

"Mm-hmm." She murmurs. "What do you think about his hopes? Do you want to be the person you were before?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

"May I speak frankly, Mr. Barnes?" I nod and she continues. "The man who you used to be back in the 1940s is gone. He died when he fell off that train."

I grimace at her bluntness, despite granting her permission to speak that way.

"But," She says gently. "The Winter Soldier isn't who you are any more, either. He was gone when you decided to stay with the man you were expected to kill. Now you have a chance to redefine who you are. And what you are is a man, a veteran, who is dealing with post traumatic stress. Have you tried any support groups?"

"No. I don't go out much."

"Why not?"

_Because they'll find me._ "I don't see much of a reason to."

"Mr. Barnes, there's a lot of people who feel this way." Dr. Simmons said. "I'd like you to complete an assignment for me before you come back next week. I'd like you to go out one night this week. It can be to a support group, a bar, coffee house, library...it doesn't matter. Could you do that for me?"

"How do you know I'll do it and not lie?" I asked.

She chuckled softly. "I was hoping we could be honest. But if you insist on being devious, you could bring something back from your outing. A receipt or ticket stub."

I was still unsure of her 'assigment' but I nodded. She scrawled something on the notepad then ripped it out and handed it to me. "This is a number for a support group at the veteran's hospital uptown. The man who runs it is Sam Wilson and he accepts everyone."

"I doubt he'll accept me." I tucked the number into my pocket nonetheless.

"Why?"

_I tried to kill him._ "Just a feeling I've got."

"I also have a support group. We meet at my home every week. It gives everyone a sense of comfort and we have some dinner. Would you like to join us this week?"

My shoulders shrug noncommitally. Her lips twitched slightly before changing the subject. "How have you been sleeping?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Let me rephrase the question: how many hours have you been sleeping a night?" 

"Four or five." A breeze rolls in through the window. "Maybe less."

"Are you having nightmares?"

I didn't answer.

"Mr. Barnes, I could prescribe something for you-"

"No." My answer is harsh. "I don't want to be drugged."

"Okay." If she's startled by my bluntness, she doesn't show it. "There are also some herbal remedies, teas to help you sleep. Perhaps you could try those."

A shadow caught my eye, standing in the corner nearest the window, its face covered by the sheer curtain. It was a pregnant woman, blood flowing from the bullet wound between her eyes, which held a hateful gaze directed toward me. The sight of her knocked the wind out of my lungs and I held my terror in check. I had to get outside.

"Are we done?" I asked, holding my breath.

"We still have a half hour but if you'd like to leave, you can."

I stood immediately, pausing when she spoke again. "Mr. Barnes, I have an open door policy. If you need an emergency session or are having a rough time, you can call my afterhours line. My receptionist can give you the number."

"Thank you." I stalked out of the office and waiting area without getting the number, escaping into the fresh air just in time. My ghosts had come back to haunt me. The pregnant woman had been collateral damage during one of my missions. I don't remember what mission I was on, I don't remember why I killed my target, but I remember this woman running as I chased my prey. The look in her eyes when she died has never left my mind.

I've never forgotten a face of anyone I've killed and if I was a religious man, I'd bet that their souls, wherever they may be, haven't forgotten me. I heard Steve's voice telling me to focus on the details as I drop to my knees, trying to catch my breath, so I count the ants marching by on the pavement, how many weeds are growing in the cracks of the sidewalk, and dark purple fingernails.

"Mr. Barnes, are you okay?" Dr. Simmons' voice is worried as she grabs my shoulders and tries to help me stand. "Can you hear me?"

All I can hear are the screams of my victims, gunfire echoing in the back of my mind, and pointless begging by the loved ones of the people I killed. I shake myself free of the hands on my shoulders, swinging at whatever I can hit.

"Stop!" Dr. Simmons shouts at someone that I can't see. "Don't touch him."

Her order comes too late for someone who tackles me, only knocking me off balance because it took me by surprise, and I react on instinct. A second later, I have my assailant pinned underneath me, my hand around his throat. His face comes into view, reddening as he struggles to breath and he claws at my hands at his throat. Soft hands are yanking my face up to see something—someone, actually. I'm staring in Dr. Simmons' eyes and she's talking. "James, let him go. Whatever you're seeing isn't real. Let him go."

Her eyes are searching mine, looking for some signal that I understand her.

I let him go.

He starts coughing as he catches his breath and I'm panting from the strength of the flashback. Dr. Simmons is talking to someone else, a police officer, I notice as I look around, and then comes back to me. "Come on, Mr. Barnes. I think we'd better finish our session."

"Alex, could you push back my next appointment?" Dr. Simmons whispers to her receptionist. "And could you get a couple bottles of water, please?"

"Of course."

Dr. Simmons helps me to the couch I had previously occupied, shooing Alex away as soon as she returned with the water bottles. "Do you have someone you'd like me to call?"

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes closed tightly against the ghosts.

"Can you tell me what triggered you?" She asks gently.

"I don't want to talk about it." I said. "I can't talk about it."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Dr. Simmons, Eric is on the line for you." Alex' voice came over the intercom.

"Thank you, Alex." Dr. Simmons replied. "Can you tell him I'll call him back?"

"Of course."

"Mr. Barnes, here's my afterhours line and my cell number. If you have any more triggers or just need to talk, you can call me any time." She smiles at me, extending a business card to me. I take it with no intention of ever using it. Glancing at the clock she says, "Don't forget your assignment and I'll see you next week."

And with that, my first therapy session is over.

-0-

My ghosts were waiting for me that night when I laid down to go to sleep. They settled on the mattress next to me, stood around my bed and staring down at me and whispering in my ear. I didn't sleep and allowed myself to stay in bed late into the afternoon, drifting between sleep and contemplation. Dr. Simmons had said that this was a time when I could choose who I wanted to be, not the Winter Soldier and maybe not Bucky either.

Around four o'clock, I dragged myself out of bed and dressed. I had decided that I would get Dr Simmons' assignment over and done with as soon as possible but, to be honest, I had no idea where I would go so I just started walking down the street. There was a bar near Steve's apartment, not that I could get drunk, but it would complete my assignment. Pulling the door open, I claimed a barstool on the end of the bar and ordered a beer. No sooner had I lifted the bottle to my lips than a girl dropped on the stool next to me and whispered quickly, "Pretend like we're together."

"What?" My brows furrowed in confusion.

"I'll explain in a minute but please? I'm trying to ditch this guy." Her mouth turned into a pout and I shrugged. Why not? A second later, a man, probably in his early twenties, came up to the girl.

"Baby, I thought we were leaving?" His words were slurred, which surprised me since it was still early afternoon.

"I'm not your baby." She put her hand on my knee and leaned as close to me as the stool would allow. "This is my boyfriend."

"James." I introduced myself to no one in particular.

"You didn't have a boyfriend a minute ago."

I rolled my eyes and stood, blocking the man's path to the girl. I towered over him by almost a full head and he squinted as he looked up at me. "Listen, pal. She's not interested. Why don't you get yourself home and sleep it off?"

His pickled brain seemed to decide this was a good idea because he huffed but left the bar and the girl introduced herself. "Thanks for that. I'm Anna."

"James." I repeated. "And it's no problem."

She tossed her long blonde hair and smiled up at me, green eyes sparkling. Clearly she was used to getting her way. "Let me buy you a drink for helping me out."

I lifted my beer slightly. "I already have one."

"How about dinner, then?" I nearly choked on my drink. "It's the least I can do."

"No, thanks. I don't get out much."

Anna pouted then wrote her number on a bar napkin and tucked into my jacket pocket. "In case you change your mind."

She winked at me and hopped off her barstool, well aware that at least five sets of eyes (mine included) watched her exit the bar. With a perfect pinup figure, it was no wonder. I left the beer unfinished and escaped to Steve's apartment.

**A/N: This was just an idea floating around in my head. I hope you all enjoy it and please feel free to leave a review. Each and every one is appreciated. :) **


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, I was still debating on calling Anna or not. Sighing, I shoved the scrap of paper in my pocket and picked up Dr. Simmons' card, going into the kitchen to use the telephone. It rang four times and I was contemplating hanging up when she answered.

"Hello?" She said brightly.

"Dr. Simmons?" I asked dumbly.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Bucky-" I hesitated then corrected myself. "James Barnes."

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Barnes?" Dr. Simmons was waiting for an answer.

"No." I moistened my lips and let out a breath. "Yes. Can I come to your office?"

"Well, I'm not in the office at the moment." She started to say.

"Oh."

"But if you'd like to meet somewhere for coffee, I know a good place."

My lips twitched. "Okay. Where is it?"

I actually knew the diner that she wanted to meet at. Steve had taken me there more than once and it was familiar but that didn't stop me from arriving early and taking time to assess any danger that could possibly be present. I picked a booth in the corner, allowing me a full view of the room and inhaled the scent of grease, fried meat, and coffee. Dr. Simmons arrived ten minutes after I did, right on time, and scanned the dining area before her eyes landed on me. She smiled as she slid into the seat across from me. "Hello, again."

Nodding once, I echoed her greeting. A waitress came to the table and took Dr. Simmons' order for coffee, and at her insistence, mine as well.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?"

"Would you mind-" I stopped the sentence. "Calling me James?"

Dr. Simmons' lips curved. "I've always been partial to that name so it would be my pleasure. What can I do for you, James?"

I pulled Anna's phone number from my pocket and slid it across the table to her. She examined the number then put the number back on the table top. "What's this?"

I explained what happened at the bar a few days earlier. As I tell her the story, I take in her appearance. She seems completely different than when she was at the office. Today was warm, with a summer breeze, and she had taken advantage of the weather, wearing a yellow sundress that came to her knees and her hair in a ponytail. She wore the same cherry lipstick as she had on our first encounter but today her fingernails were painted a bright blue. Dr. Simmons waited until the end of my story to speak.

"This sounds like a perfect opportunity to spend some time with someone who has the potential to be special." She took a sip of her coffee. "Can I ask why you needed advice?"

"I'm...not sure."

"About what?"

"I don't know." I admitted, looking out the window at the passersby.

"James," She reached across the table and put her hand on top of mine, warm skin against warm skin. "I think it would be a good idea to come to my support group tonight. Feeling like you're not alone, even if you don't say anything, can do wonders."

She sensed my hesitance and pulled her hand away. "Why don't you help me with the preperations for tonight and if you'd like to stay for group, you can and if you'd like to go, you can. I could use a little help, actually."

"What do you need help with?"

"Are you any good with a barbeque pit?"

This was how I found myself carrying grocery bags into Dr. Simmons' house and placing them on the kitchen counter. Her home, like everything about her, was organized and well kept. The wood floors gleamed with a clean shine, the appliances in the kitchen sparkled brightly. The windows on the first floor and the French doors leading to the backyard were open, letting the sweet smell of summer in. She fluttered around the kitchen, putting produce in the refrigerator, placing the meat on the counter to be marinated and seasoned. I'd never worked a barbeque pit before but seeing as how I'm capable of using almost any weapon, I thought I could figure it out. Before long the smell of burning coals and sizzling meat drifted around me.

I never cooked before—at least, not that I could remember—but I found it calming. There was a certain methodic calm that came with it. Dr. Simmons brought out another tray of meat, smiling up at me as she placed it on the side table of the grill. "Smells good. Keep up the good work."

"It's not hard." I let myself smile back.

"I can never seem to get the meat cooked right. I always burn it to a crisp." She pats my shoulder, letting her hand linger for a moment before going back inside. From my place on the patio, I can see her chopping tomatoes and lettuce, then dumping the vegetables into a bowl. She looks up and smiles at a man entering the kitchen and stands on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. His hand slides to the small of her back, pulling her closer and then they pull away. Just like that, there's a ghost whispering over my shoulder, knocking the breath out of me. The sudden appearance is enough to make me brace myself on the the closest object and taking staggering breaths.

"Oh, my God! James!" A voice shrieks and my hand is yanked away from the object of my stability. My mind is still foggy but her voice pulls me towards clarity. "We need to take care of your hand."

Cold water splashes my palm and Dr. Simmons keeps talking. "Eric, go get the neosporin and some bandages. James, can you hear me?"

My gaze focuses on my now scarred palm, the flesh blistered and angry. Blue tipped fingers are smearing something over the skin but my metal hand covers the caregiving hand, shoving it away gently. "I—I'm okay. It'll heal."

"James, we need to take you to the doctor. This could be worse than it looks." Dr. Simmons' eyes are filled with worry and concern.

"I've had worse." I glare over her shoulder at the ghost who caused this. His spectoral face blurs and I squeeze my eyes shut. _Details. Focus on the details._ I smell vanilla and sunshine, feel a soft whisp of hair brush against my cheek, and the cotton of a sundress. "I need to go."

"Can I at least give you a ride? Or call someone to come get you?" She asks.

"No. I'll be okay." I tell her and I get out the door and manage to get home. Steve's chatting with a boy, probably ten years old, and silences himself when he sees me and my expression. He tells the boy, "Jeremy, go get your mom."

The boy scampers away, calling loudly for his mother as he ran past me. A brunette appears as Steve nudges me toward the kitchen table, catching a glimpse of my hand. "What happened, Steve?"

"Buck, what happened?" Steve echoes her question but I don't have words so I just shrug.

"This is bad." The brunette's hands are cold as she examines my palm. "It looks like he put his hand on a stovetop and left it there."

"What can we do for it, Charlie?"

"I should take him in to the hospital."

"NO." I bark, causing them to jump. Steve and the brunette—Charlie-share a look.

"I can debride the burn here and make sure there's no infection but we'll have to keep a close eye on it." Charlie says. "Jeremy, can you get the first aid kit out of my purse?"

He scrambles into action again, bringing his mother the kit and then moving away. He watches silently as his mother tends my palm, which I neglect to mention has already been taken care of, and I watch him right back, holding his gaze.

He's not afraid.

-0-

The next morning, I venture into the kitchen and get a glass of water, not noticing Jeremy until I turned around to face the living room. He's sitting at the coffee table, a box of cereal in one hand and his other hand in the box, grabbing some cereal as he watches cartoons. "Hi."

I nod once at him in acknowledgement then finish my water. Putting the glass in the sink, I head back to my room when a voice stops me. "Do you wanna watch tv with me? Mom and Steve had an errand to run."

I pause then decide to follow Dr. Simmons' advice to let people in. Jeremy scoots over and I sit on the opposite end of the couch. He looks over at me then extends the box to me. It's not until I take a handful myself that he takes the box back. "Is your hand okay?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Then we go back to watching cartoons.

**A/N: A huge thanks to those of you who have added this story to your alerts/favorites. It means a lot to me. Another thank you to my reviewer NicoleR85. You rock, dearie. Please leave a review and feed the muse. They're always appreciated. Charlie and Jeremy are my original characters from my Hawkeye story. It's not necessary to to read that to keep up with this one. Til next time, readers! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

"-wouldn't mind, would you?" I realize Steve's asking me a question and I shake my head to clear the sleep from my brain.

"What?" I ask, clearing my throat.

"You wouldn't mind watching Jeremy for a few hours, would you?" Steve repeats. He looks uncertain and nervous while he taps his finger on the back of the chair. _Tap. Tap. Tap._ "It's just for a few hours. He doesn't really need a lot, just make sure that he doesn't take the TV apart."

"He does that?"

"Only since he's been hanging around Stark," Steve chuckles, moving to pour himself some coffee. "He's a great kid."

"I can do it." How hard can it be to keep a kid from causing trouble?

The only problem was that I had no idea how to babysit a ten year old. When he finally showed up, Steve made introductions then left to do I don't know what, leaving Jeremy and I staring at each other. "So, what do you want to do?"

"Can I see your arm?"

It would appear that this boy has no sense of timing.

"Why?"

"Because I bet that it's wired with-" He broke off into some technological babble that I couldn't really understand but his eyes lit up with interest. He can't hurt it so I figure why not. If he can even get to the wiring, I'll be amazed. I slide off the couch and onto the floor, resting my mechanical arm on the coffee table and watching Jeremy as he examines it, his hands drifting over the metal casing. A second later, the wiring was visible and he was practically humming with energy while he inspected it. His eyebrows furrow in confusion then he gets up, finds a pair of tweezers, and then plants himself back on the ground next to me. Jeremy starts to stick the tweezers in but pauses and looks to me for approval.

"What are you doing?" That's the only question I can think of.

"I think there's a disconnect in these two wires. Is it okay if I fix it?"

"Sure."

A second later, the wire is fixed and my arm is humming with new life. I flex my fingers and the pinch that had taken a seemingly permanent spot in my shoulder is gone. Jeremy looks pleased with himself. "Thank you."

"No problem." Jeremy tosses the tweezers on the coffee table. "Can we go do something? I'm bored. No offense."

"None taken." My lips twitch in a small smile. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm kinda hungry." He admits sheepishly. "You want to get some lunch?"

We went to the diner where I had met Dr. Simmons and Jeremy watched me while I checked for any danger. The waitress shows up while I'm surveying and Jeremy takes the initiative and orders for both of us. His milkshake is brought out first.

"Why do you do that?" Jeremy asks.

"Do what?"

"You always look like you're waiting for something bad to happen. Why?"

I shrug. "Because bad things seem to happen when I'm around."

"Mom says that it's not the person, it's the circumstances." Jeremy slurps his milkshake loudly.

"Your mom doesn't know anything about me."

"She knows enough to trust you with me." He points out. "Steve trusts you."

"He shouldn't." The waitress brings out two hamburgers and heaps of fries.

Jeremy takes a bite of his burger. "Why not?"

"Because I tried to kill him?"

"More than once?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you're his best friend." Jeremy swallowed his mouthful. "I don't think he holds it against you."

We finish lunch in one sided conversation (Jeremy telling me about school and his experiments with Tony Stark) then head back to the apartment. Charlie and Steve are talking and waiting for us to show up. Jeremy hugs his mother and tells her all about the mechanics of my arm and she smiles, nodding as if she understands everything. While I watch the scene in front of me I realize that during my time with Jeremy, I didn't see a single ghost.

-0-

Charlie and Jeremy stayed through dinner, which consisted of Chinese takeout, and I watched her interactions with Steve. Clearly they had a relationship of sorts but judging by their conversation, it was more of a brother/sister relationship. Jeremy was drawing on a pad of paper while Steve and Charlie cleaned up. I put the containers in the refrigerator and eavesdropped without really meaning to.

"Have you talked to him since you got here?" Steve asked Charlie.

The slight flinch and awkward chuckle made it clear that whoever 'him' was, there was a rough backstory. "Um, no. I'm not really sure how to start that conversation."

"I'm sure it'll work out, Char." Steve rubbed her shoulders. "You just gotta talk to Clint and you guys will work it out."

"I guess." Charlie cleared her throat while I escaped the emotional fog that was starting to cover the kitchen. When I took a place next to Jeremy on the couch, he toyed with his pencil before speaking.

"Can I ask you a question, James?"

"Sure." What questions can a ten year old have?

"How do you ask a girl out?"

I nearly choked on my bottle of water. I regained my composure then said, "You're asking the wrong guy."

"But you're a grown up."

"That doesn't mean I have answers." My reply was harsher than I expected. Sighing, I softened my tone. "Maybe your dad can give you advice."

"I doubt it." The sad look on his face made me feel really guilty. Anna's number popped into my head and to make the kid happy again, I thought of a compromise.

I took a drink of water. "I'll ask a girl out, if you ask your girl out."

He brightened visibly but still looked scared. "How do I know you'll do it?"

"You'll have to trust me."

"We could go to the park together. Like a double date." Jeremy smiled. "Tony and Pepper and Mom and Clint used to do it all the time."

_Damn it._ Well, I had gotten myself into this mess and I'd get myself out. "Deal."

**A/N: A huge thanks to my followers and favoriters and reviewer. You guys rock. Please leave a review on your way out. They feed the muse. :)**

**Little Miss Assassin: Your name makes me think of Black Widow. Thanks so much for the support. You are awesome. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

"I think it's great." Dr. Simmons said, raising her coffee mug to her lips and taking a sip. "Have you decided what you're going to do on your date?"

"No. Not yet." Jeremy had backed down (the traitor) and decided not to ask out the girl he has a crush on. "What is there to do?"

"You could go out dancing, out to dinner." She suggested, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "Maybe a movie?"

An ugly splotch of purple behind her ear drew my attention. It grew into a larger bruise that seemed to cover the back of her neck. I couldn't be sure because I hadn't seen her from the back. I didn't realize she had noticed when my gaze was glued to the bruise but she cleared her throat and sat up straighter, fixing her hair to cover the bruise. "I'm sure whatever you plan for your date, she'll enjoy."

I nod once, acknowledging her statement and lean back to pretend to think, mostly so I don't have to talk.

"Is your hand okay?" She asks, softly.

I flex my fingers absentmindedly, the skin stiff but mostly healed. I doubt it'll scar. Regardless she asks to see my palm and I allow it because I can get a closer look at her neck. When she gently traces the small blisters, I get distracted by the slight scratch of her fingernails against my skin, the action causing my skin to goosepimple. I yank my hand back like it hurt and she's apologizing immediately.

"It's okay." I assure her and she relaxes. "Are movies something girls like?"

"Most do. It depends on the genre they like, of course. Some girls prefer science fiction and some prefer romance movies."

"Which do you prefer?" I ask before I can stop the question.

"I like science fiction." She smiles at me. "But then I'm a closet nerd."

"I like science." The words just fly out of my mouth. "I think."

"Did you remember that?"

Nodding, I try to remember why I like science. A car floating several feet above a stage of some sort flashes in my mind but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "A science expo?"

"I think the Stark Expo is the only one that still happens annually."

"Stark?" The name is familiar. Then I remember that Steve works with a man named Stark.

"It looks like we're making some progress." She seems really happy about it. "Aren't you happy about it?"

I'm about to say no when her smile makes me say yes.

-0-

"What are you going to wear?" Charlie asks me when I get home. She's been hanging out at Steve's apartment a lot lately. I swear she's more excited about my date than I am.

"This, I guess." I gesture to my jeans, black t shirt, and boots.

"Absolutely not." She looks appalled. "Jeremy's with Steve and I don't have any more meetings today. We need to go shopping."

"No." I retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator and uncap it, gulping the cold liquid quickly.

"Why not?" She joins me in the kitchen and crosses her arms over her chest.

"No."

"Come on, Bucky." She had adopted the same nickname Steve had for me. "I just went through a breakup-"

"Not my fault so you can't use it as an excuse."

"And I could use a distraction." Charlie glares at me for interrupting but then it morphs into a pout and she bats her eyelashes.

"Just go look at the clothes I have already. I don't do shopping."

"Fine." Charlie huffs, heading towards my bedroom and pausing when she realizes that I'm not following her. "Are you coming?"

Rolling my eyes, I follow the brunette terror to my room. She spends hours going through my limited wardrobe, mixing jeans with t shirts that all look the same to me before she wanders into Steve's room. Charlie comes back with a blue button down shirt and hands it to me. I raise an eyebrow at her and she sighs, shoving the shirt at my chest. "Put it on. I want to see how it looks."

Mumbling under my breath about how much of a pain in the ass she's being, I yank the shirt on and button it. Charlie grins and then instructs me to roll the sleeves up to my elbows, leaving my forearms bare.

"That's perfect. What are we gonna do about your hair?" She chews on her lower lip thoughtfully.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"Do you really want it getting in the way if you kiss Anna?"

"I'm not going to be kissing anybody."

"Not with that attitude, you're not."

She laughed at me when I scowled.

-0-

As it turns out, whether or not I was going to kiss Anna was a predecided idea on Anna's part. We had gone to a movie (science fiction, as per Doc Simmons' recommendation) and during the movie, Anna put her hand on my thigh, squeezing it and tossing me a suggestive glance. Sex was nothing new to me. I had my share of whores over the last fifty years, despite the fact that I was brainwashed. It was one 'reward' my handlers allowed.

So by the time the movie ended, Anna's hand had ended up in my lap, stroking me through my jeans. She gave me a knowing look as the lights came back on and I didn't bother adjusting myself in an attempt to cover my obvious interest. The warm night air hit me as we exited the theater.

"So," Anna turned to me and fluttered her eyelashes at me. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours."

She grinned and we walked the four blocks to her apartment. Anna led me up the six flights of stairs (apparently the elevator was broken) and unlocked her door. There was no need for pretense and Anna took my hand and took me to her bed. She moved to kiss my lips but I ducked my head and bit her neck, drawing a pleasured hiss from Anna. I don't kiss on the mouth. It's too intimate.

Sex is simple, sex is easy, and sex is something that I don't need to pretend like I know what I'm doing. I can tell Anna likes my moves, which she should since I've perfected them a long time ago. I don't need to focus on anything. Anna seems to like being in control and before I know it, we're both naked and she's straddling me. Tonight is easier than I thought. Anna knows what she's doing and soon we're both panting and she's laying on the mattress next to me. I want to leave immediately, but something tells me not to leave just yet. I wait until Anna's breathing is deep and even before dressing and heading home.

**A/N: I'm so sorry that this chapter wasn't up sooner. I recently found out that I'm pregnant with my second child and between nausea, being exhausted chasing my toddler around, and heartburn, it's been hard to find energy to write. However, all that is easing up (except the toddler who thinks it's funny to jump from couch to couch) so updates should come more frequently. Please review because it's an excellent motivator and it feeds my muse. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Steve fiddled with the bow tie of his tuxedo while I chuckled. "Why are you going to this benefit thing again?"

"_We_" Steve corrected with a pointed look at my own tuxedo. "Are going because it's a big night for Charlie. She's in the running for an award and I want to support her. You are going because it's good for you to get out and meet people."

The tuxedo was more comfortable than I expected and even though my hair was longer than Steve preferred but I pulled it back with a hair tie and it placated Blondie. The award dinner thing was being held at the hotel where Charlie had conveniently booked a room and when we arrived, Steve and I found her at the bar, anxiously tapping the edge of a martini glass and chatting with a friend. The midnight blue gown she wore wrapped her frame perfectly and when she caught sight of us, her pink lips curled upwards in a smile. Her friend followed her line of sight and grinned as well while I found myself already looking forward to this evening more. Who was her friend? My friendly neighborhood therapist, of course. At least I'd have someone to talk to.

"Steve!" Charlie chirped brightly, almost knocking over her glass when she moved to hug Steve. Thankfully, Dr. Simmons caught it before it shattered. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm so nervous."

"You'll be fine, Char." Steve promised. "How many of those have you had?"

"I dunno." Charlie stammered.

"That's her first. I gave her something to soothe her nerves." Dr. Simmons interjected. She extended a hand to Steve. "Maxine Simmons. Pleased to meet you."

"Steve Rogers." Steve accepted her hand with a sideways glance at me. "And the pleasure is mine, ma'am."

"Please, call me Maxine. I'm not a ma'am yet." Dr. Simmons—Maxine-smiled wider. She exchanged pleasantries with Steve while I observed her wardrobe. The red gown was tight around her waist, pushing up her breasts exquisitely, and the skirt flaring out from her hips. Her lips were the usual red and her hair was once again left down around her shoulders, curling slightly. "How have you been James?"

Hearing my name startled me out of my thoughts and I answered, "Fine. You look lovely tonight."

Her cheeks flushed and I felt pleased with myself. Steve took Charlie's arm and offered to lead her to her table. "Where are you sitting, Doc?"

"You can call me Maxine tonight too, James." She said, sliding off the bar stool with feline grace. "And I'm at Charlie's table."

Following Steve's example, I offered Maxine my arm and soon we were sitting next to Charlie and Steve. The food provided was great, a huge steak with potatoes and a side salad, paired with good alcohol and mostly pleasant conversation. Charlie was very nervous and her fingers kept tapping the table top, eventually causing Steve to cover her hand with his gently. She smiled nervously but then paled when she caught sight of someone.

"Hey, Cap." A friendly and male voice said.

"Barton." Steve nodded once curtly.

"Charlie, can I talk to you? Privately?"

"Don't you have to get home to your wife?"Charlie spat back. Even I knew this wasn't going to end well for this Barton character. "Tonight is kind of a big deal for me, so do you mind not ruining it further?"

"Is that why you think I'm here?" Barton asked.

"James, shall we go to the bar?" Maxine gracefully withdrew us from the conversation, placing her napkin on the table next to her plate. "I'd kill for a martini."

"Sure." I stood and followed her, allowing the three of them some privacy. Once we were safely at the bar, we pretended not to watch the table we had just left. "What's the story there?"

Maxine took a drink of her martini before answering. "No offense, but I don't think it's my story to tell."

"Fair enough."

"How did your date go, by the way?"

I shrugged, accepting glass of whiskey from the bartender. "It was fine. Don't think I'll see her again, though."

"Why not?" She cocked her head to one side. "Didn't you like her?"

Luckily (or unluckily) I didn't have to answer, as the smell of sulfur became overwhelming. It became hard to breathe and I knew that a ghost was coming. All of my muscles tensed and I squeezed the liquor glass so hard that it shattered, causing Maxine to jump.

"Are you okay?" Maxine asks softly. When I don't answer, she slides off her bar stool and helps me out of the room. I remembered an elevator and panting while Maxine tried to coach me to breathe normally. I don't know how but we ended up in a hotel room and she leading me to the bed. She disappears for a moment and when she comes back, there's a cool, wet cloth on my forehead. The details on her dress came into focus, the fabric of the bodice was soft, and there was a sparkling detail I hadn't noticed before. I looked up to her face while she dabbed water on my neck and my gaze locked onto the sinful red of her lips. When I almost had an attack while with Anna, I found that if I focused on a different..._activity_ the attack would go away. So I did what I thought was right-I put my hand on the back of Maxine's neck and pulled her down to me, crashing my lips onto hers. I kept kissing her until she yanked herself away, putting a hand to her lips and backing a few steps away. Before I have the chance to speak, she escapes the room.

-0-

I find Steve later that night, sitting alone at the table. "Where's Charlie?"

"She went up to her room. She didn't win." Steve scrubbed his eyes with his hands. "How'd your night go?"

"I think it's time to go home." I yawned. He seemed tired and as ready to leave as I was. We got home and to our rooms, escaping the mistakes we made tonight. I stripped out of the tuxedo, tossing it on the floor and pulling on a pair of pajama pants and crawling into bed. I could still taste Maxine's lipstick and while I knew I should be ashamed that I kissed her, (and on the lips, no less) but I couldn't seem to be. Instead, I fell asleep with the memory of Maxine's lips against mine and the smell of her perfume.

-0-

The hardest part of getting up the next morning was knowing that I had another session with Maxine-Dr. Simmons- after kissing her. Steve offered to run with me today but I declined, and I tried to come up with a good excuse as to why I kissed her. While it did help with the ghosts, I don't think it would placate Doc Simmons. I showed up early to my appointment and waited nervously. The Winter Soldier dd not get nervous.

"Mr. Barnes, the doctor will see you now."

Dr. Simmons was waiting in her office, drinking from her coffee mug. She looked up when I entered the room. "Please, have a seat."

I sat on the leather couch and she remained at the desk. "Mr. Barnes, I'm going to refer you to a colleague. I don't think it's appropriate that I remain your therapist."

"I'm sorry." I didn't know what else I could say.

She handed me a card and continued. "Dr. Compton is a great doctor and has had success with his treatment of post traumatic stress."

"Thanks." I got up to leave.

"Mr. Barnes," She stops and sighs so I pause and wait for her to continue. "Had I not been your therapist and were I not engaged, last night may have gone differently. You are a very attractive man but it's just not ethical. I wish I could continue to support you but I feel like there maybe some interference in any progress we could have made. I'm sorry."

"It's all right." I put the card in my pocket. "Thanks for everything."

**A/N: I am so, so, so sorry about the long wait. Life got in the way. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Thanks to little miss assassin for the review. A giant thanks to everyone who reads/follows/favorites/reviews this story. Please leave a review on your way out because they are amazing motivation. If I get five in the next twenty four hours, I'll update tomorrow, otherwise it'll probably be a few days before I'm able to again. Love all of you! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Dr. Compton is a moron. That's established five minutes after meeting him. The balding, salt and pepper bearded man hasn't done any of the homework that Maxine did so he expects me to explain everything. He just stares at me during the silence—which there is plenty of. After my first session with him, I'm fairly certain I won't be back. He did offer one helpful suggestion though. He said I might do well with a job. Sitting around the apartment is pretty boring and despite the fact that I can't stand people, it could benefit me to have some money on hand.

"What are you doing?" Steve found me sitting at the kitchen table, reading help wanted ads.

"Trying to find a job."

"Why?"

"Dr. Compton suggested it."

"Oh." Steve pulled a chair out and sat down across from me, taking a drink from a bottle of water. "Do you have any leads?"

"Not really."

"Maybe you could be private security." Steve offered. "You do have the...qualifications for it. You can use a gun and you're good in a tight spot."

The clock ticks several times before I answer. "Who's hiring for private security?"

"I think Charlie said a friend of hers was looking for a night watchman. I could ask, if you want."

"Thanks."

-0-

The job was a bouncer at a nightclub that, according to Charlie, was very popular. I was hired after a quick interview with a manager who looked strangely familiar. Steve was more enthusiastic than I was at the prospect of a job, but when 9 o'clock came around, I pulled on a jacket and trudged my way to the night club. When I showed up, there was a line outside the building made up of girls in sequined dresses and men in pants too tight for males to wear. Going inside, there were workers buzzing about, getting ready for the night to begin.

Somebody bumped into me and I heard a flustered, "Oh, I'm sorry," placing the voice before I managed to see them. Turning around, I bent to help pick up the papers Maxine had dropped on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Maxine asked, shuffling the papers in an attempt to get them in order.

"I work here. What are you doing here?"

"Eric owns this club. I help with the administrative things."

"Max!" Eric shouted from the office where I had my interview. Maxine jumped when his voice carried across the club.

"I'll see you around, James." She smiled at me and it was then I noticed that her skin on her lower lip was broken and looked as though it had just started to heal. She hurried through the waiting door and Eric slammed it behind him. That's when it occurred to me.

Eric was beating Maxine.

-0-

Working at a nightclub was easy. Keep the hot heads from getting their asses kicked and damaging club property, keep the drunks from throwing up where they aren't supposed to, and keep the women (and men) from being molested. Overall, it wasn't anything that I needed to actually focus on. I got paid at the end of the night, walking away from the club not quite $900 richer. Steve was asleep when I got home, so I didn't have to answer any questions about my first night. Stuffing the bills into the top drawer of my dresser, I shrugged off my jacket and kicked off my boots before crawling into bed.

Instead of falling asleep, my mind wandered to Maxine. I have done some awful thing but I don't think I could ever hit a woman in anger, much less one that I was romantically involved with. I had crossed a line with her the night of Charlie's banquet but I'd figure out a way to help her. With that determination, I let myself fall asleep.

**A/N: Not only is this chapter short, it's late. I am very sorry. Thanks to all my readers/followers/favorites. You guys rock. Please feel free and leave a review. They feed my muse. :) **


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